Close, and a Pig
Not a hundred yards along the first sandy path cutting between the oaks, two or three bulls bolted in odd directions. None smelled or heard us; they just freaked on principle, as they do. But suddenly the brush parted and there stood one of them, stopped and standing broadside just 60 yards away. But there was a thick branch blocking the vitals, and so while Clay and Joe plugged their ears, I mulled a couple things over: On one hand, I have a .45-70, which many say does not fear thick branches. On the other, according to David Petzal, unless you're shooting a 20 millimeter cannon, there is no such thing as a brush-bucking bullet. While I thought about this, the nilgai decided to leave the scene.